


It's Better to Feel Pain (Than Nothing at All)

by Vorta_Scholar



Series: Post-Nemesis [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Next Generation (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Posthumous Confessions of Love, Regret, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vorta_Scholar/pseuds/Vorta_Scholar
Summary: After Data's death, Geordi is hurting. He feels responsible, in a way, for what happened. His head is killing him and he can't stand to leave his quarters. After spending the night on the floor of his quarters avoiding his fellow crewmates, he decides it's time to talk to someone.
Relationships: Data & Geordi La Forge, Data/Geordi La Forge, William Riker/Deanna Troi
Series: Post-Nemesis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864726
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	It's Better to Feel Pain (Than Nothing at All)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this the other night at like 3 a.m. while I was sad. I'm sorry, but you all need to read it now.

This was the most intense headache Geordi had experienced in years. Even turning the lights out didn’t help. He could still see for the most part. He sighed and buried his head in his hands. There was so much going through his mind right now, so many thoughts and images and words, and it seemed like every time he closed his eyes he saw him, that last glance before he left, all the little smiles and exchanged looks and furrowed brows and head tilts.

He had enough good memories of Data to last a lifetime, but he knew, just like now, for years to come they would all be overpowered by the sight of that ship exploding, and knowing Data was in there. Knowing he let him go in there. Knowing he _helped_ him go in there, all the time aware of the only possible end result.

Sure, something in him had told him, “You know, maybe he’ll have time to get back. Maybe he’ll find a way. He’s a smart guy. He’s fast.” But as smart and as fast as Data was, Geordi knew he’d made his choice, and Geordi didn’t even stop him. Didn’t even try.

There came a chime at the door after, God, he didn’t even know how long. Hours, probably.

“Not now,” he said.

The voice didn’t even sound like his. It was flat and vacant and distant.

“Okay,” a voice said. Commander Riker. “You know where to find me.”

“Yeah,” Geordi sighed, not loud enough for Riker to hear him on the other side of the door, but it wasn’t meant for him anyway.

He laid down. The floor was hard, and the cold seeped up through the carpet and his uniform, and he closed his eyes tight, hoping— _praying_ , something he didn’t often do—to make it all stop for just a minute. Just a minute. Half a minute, even.

Normally, he could take his visor off and it would help. A little. Not much, but enough to let him sleep anyway. Now, he couldn’t do anything but lie there and close his eyes and think that maybe soon enough sleep would take him and he could at least stop thinking about it all. But that didn’t happen.

The door chimed again a while later, after the patch of floor he was lying on had warmed up to his body temperature. This time he didn’t say anything.

It chimed again.

And again.

And again, quicker than before.

“Yes?” he called.

“Commander. Can I...can I come in?” Lieutenant Barclay’s voice called in through the door, somber and oddly quiet.

“Is it important, Reg?”

“I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“Not now, Reg, I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Another long silence, and he was almost ready to let it swallow him up. He was so tired. Maybe he could fall asleep now. Eventually. He rolled over onto his side, and in doing so, found himself face-to-face with something under the bed. It wasn’t very large. Maybe a pair of shorts or a shirt, if they were wadded up. He reached for it and found it to be made of a soft, textured fabric.

It was Data’s deerstalker. That stupid Sherlock Holmes hat. He didn’t know how or why it was in his room, under his bed of all places. Maybe Spot had stolen it and carried it in. He wasn’t sure.

He sat up and examined it in the near-pitch dark room. It looked just as it did the last time he had seen it, artificially age-worn, but in great condition. He smiled, though he felt a pang of sadness and anger and guilt in his stomach. Maybe the good memories weren’t completely overpowered. Tainted maybe, but not overpowered.

A few hours went by. Geordi was made aware of this only when his daily alarm went off, waking him up from his restless sleep and reminding him it was time to get up and go to the Holodeck for his morning exercises, which he definitely did not want to do. Not today. Surely he was entitled to one day off.

He stood slowly, sore from sleeping on the floor, leaning against his bed rather than lying in it. He set the deerstalker on the bed and went off to the next room in search of his shoes, which he had kicked off with quite a bit of force when he arrived back at his quarters the night before. He had been on the verge of screaming, but he held it in. He tried to hold it all in, but a few things certainly slipped. His shoes did a little more than that.

“Computer, lights,” he said.

His voice was starting to sound like his own again, but it was still vacant and pained.

The right shoe was under the sofa, and the left, which was being a bit more evasive, was behind a plant stand. He pulled them on and sat heavily on the edge of the sofa.

“I don’t want to go to work today,” he said, and chuckled bitterly. “Ha. Never said that before.” He groaned, standing up to pace, up and down the length of the room, from the passage into his bedroom to the front door, and back again. “Come on, La Forge. You love your job. You’re the chief engineer. You have responsibilities. Things you need to do. People who need your guidance.”

But he knew that when he walked out there, before he even made it to engineering, he’d see all the places Data used to be, and he’d lose it. Here, he was safe. This was his space. Out there, in the corridors, the Turbolifts, engineering, the bridge, the Jeffries tubes, the Holodeck. Data was there.

Or, he should have been.

And that would remind him of what he’d allowed, of what he’d done.

He sat down again, and suddenly found himself on his bed. He didn’t remember coming back into his room.

“I can’t do this,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if he meant that he couldn’t go out to work, or if he meant that he couldn’t do _this_ to himself. Lock himself away, stay in his quarters, in bed all day. Neither one seemed very pleasant, and he knew that was a problem.

He opened the drawer to his bedside table and pulled out his comm badge, and he turned it over in his hands a few times. He had to do something. He had to talk to someone. He couldn’t let himself wallow in this _fucking misery_ for much longer.

“Okay,” he said, and he pressed it. “Counselor Troi.”

“Geordi?” came her reply, groggy and gloomy, but also somewhat surprised.

“Counselor, I...I need to talk to somebody,” he said.

“Okay,” she said. “You can come see me. I’m free all morning.”

“Thanks, Counselor,” he said. “I can be at your office in ten minutes.”

“You can come to my quarters. They’re closer.”

“Okay.”

He turned the communicator over in his hand a few more times, contemplating pinning it on, but instead opted to tuck it into his trouser pocket, and he made his way back to the front door. It opened, and he made the right turn out as he did so many times, but this time, he tripped over something, nearly falling. Looking back to see what he tripped over, he saw Worf sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Worf?” Geordi asked.

“Commander,” Worf said, stirring.

“What were you doing?”

“Keeping a watch on you,” he said.

“Why?”

“I was not ordered to, if that’s what you mean,” Worf said, and he stood. “I just wanted to...make sure you were alright.”

Geordi smiled sadly, and placed a hand on Worf’s shoulder. “Thank you. I’m fine, really.”

“Alright,” Worf nodded. “I just know that of all of us, you were the _closest_ to Commander Data. This must be very hard for you.”

Geordi nodded, but said nothing.

“You know, I lost someone,” Worf said, “very close to me. Just a few years ago. If you…” He sighed, softening some. “Geordi,” he said quietly, “if you need to talk to someone who knows what you’re going through, I am available to do so.”

“Thank you, Worf,” Geordi said. “But…”

“You are going to see Counselor Troi,” Worf said. “A wise decision, and if I do say so myself, an honorable one.”

“I’ll see you around,” Geordi said.

Worf nodded. “See you around, Commander.”

Counselor Troi’s quarters were bright and warm. She invited him in still in her pajamas, a modest, fluffy pink-beige set, with a darker flannel robe over top of it, likely one of Commander Riker’s. Her hair, though, was already brushed.

“Will is still asleep,” she said, handing Geordi a mug of hot chocolate before going to sit down across from him with her own.

“Thanks,” he said softly, and raised the mug to his face to blow on it.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” she asked.

“I,” he said, but stopped, letting out a heavy breath. He looked down at his feet, then back to her. “I’m feeling really lost, and really hurt right now.”

“That’s understandable,” she said.

“I don’t want to work here anymore,” he said.

She nodded slowly, her expression neutral as only a seasoned psychiatrist’s can be.

“Everything makes me think of him, and of what happened,” he said.

“Geordi, it’s only been one day. The pain and the trauma of what happened is still very fresh.”

“So I should give it time?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“I don’t know what I should do in the meantime, though,” he said. “I don’t think I can go back to work yet, but the ship and the crew need me. I know that. I need to be here to assist in the repairs. I need to be here to lead my team. But every time I close my eyes, I see him. Everywhere I look, there’s something of his, or someplace I feel like he’s supposed to be. I found his hat under my bed last night. That damn Sherlock Holmes deerstalker. I fell asleep holding it.”

She looked down into her cup, which was resting on her knee, and watched the steam pour off of it.

“I understand,” she said.

“Do you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and he could see the professional shrink facade fade, and with it, the calm, composed mask she always wore to hide her own feelings as she sorted through those of others. “It’s what I’m supposed to say.” She cleared her throat. “We’re all hurting right now, Geordi. We all lost a friend, a family member. And along with the pain of the loss, there’s the reminder that he wasn’t... _organic_. He wasn’t a biological being. He wasn’t human. He was simply a very smart machine. We shouldn’t feel this loss. That’s what we’re trying to tell ourselves. That’s what I’ve caught me trying to tell myself, anyway. ‘Data wasn’t a real person, so this loss isn’t real, it isn’t valid.’ But it is, because Data was very real. He was a person. He was a friend, to all of us.”

“Data was so much more than that,” Geordi said. “He was _real_ and he was _here_ , and he was so full of life, and now he’s gone. So suddenly, so quick. It isn’t fair.”

“I know,” she said. “It isn’t.”

“I let him go,” Geordi said. “I helped him go. I…”

“Go on,” she said, uncrossing and recrossing her legs in the opposite direction.

“I feel,” he said, “I feel responsible...for Data’s death.”

“Did you make him go? Did you order him to go?”

“No, but—”

“Did you make the decision for him?”

“No.”

“Put the idea in his head?”

“No, but…”

“So he made the conscious decision to go to the other ship and save Captain Picard,” she concluded.

“Yes, but…”

“Geordi, you aren’t responsible,” she said. “Data made a choice based on what he believed was right. He saved a life at the expense of his own. I think that says a lot about him, don’t you?”

“It still isn’t fair,” Geordi murmured.

“It’s a tough choice, to decide who lives: your captain or your friend. But you didn’t make that choice, Geordi. You simply helped your friend make a very important choice of his own, which ultimately helped him achieve something he always wanted.”

“No,” Gerodi said, shaking his head. “Data didn’t want to _die_.”

“No,” she said. “He did not want to die. He had no ‘death wish.’ He wasn’t... _suicidal_. But he did long for a finite existence, as a part of his quest to become human. I’m sure he thought that he would have had many years before that happened, or that it would never come. But he wanted it, and he got it, and for that reason, and so many others, doesn’t that make him more human than you or I?”

Geordi sighed, looking down at his hands. They were shaking.

“You’re right, but…” Geordi set his mug on the end table and leaned forward, his head hanging low as he rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. When he looked up, his eyes were red, and tears were just starting to well up, threatening to start flowing. “But _I_ miss him. _I’m_ hurting. _I’m_ the one who can’t handle this. Doesn’t that matter? Didn’t he care about that? About _me_ ? About how this would affect _me_ ? Data got what _he_ wanted, but what about what _I_ wanted?”

“I think he probably considered that,” she said. “His own feelings were...subdued, or rather, often misinterpreted, but he was often aware of the feelings of those he cared about. He knew you would be saddened by this choice, but he thought highly enough of you to make it anyway. He thought you were very strong, and very brave.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It is mere...speculation,” she said with a sad smile.

“Don’t say that,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Please.”

“Data cared about you very much, Geordi,” she said. “I can’t believe that he would have made such a decision without thinking about how it would have hurt you, and how it would have hurt all of us. He knew we would mourn him, but he also knew that we would heal, given time.”

“I loved him,” Geordi said, almost shouted really. His voice was shaking. “I loved him,” he repeated in a quieter tone, barely a whisper, and the tears came pouring then, streaming down his cheeks in rivers.

“I know,” Deanna said.

“No, you don’t,” Geordi said. “How can you?”

She raised her eyebrows, saying nothing.

“Right,” he sighed. “Of course.”

“He loved you, too,” she said.

He looked up, staring at her, jaw slack and eyes open wide. “Don’t you say that. You know he..he couldn’t…”

“He could, and he did,” she said. “I felt it. I felt... _something_ akin to love, something that I always assumed to be love.” She sighed, gesturing vaguely. “His feelings were different, harder to read. But what I sensed in him when he had Lal, and when he held his cat, and when he looked at Tasha Yar, he felt when he was with you, too.”

“He always said that he couldn’t…”

“Like I said, his feelings were more subdued, harder to read, and he didn’t know how to interpret them any better than I did,” she said. “But when someone is so convinced of something like he was when he said that he didn’t have emotions or proper feelings, the best thing is to listen to them and to communicate, and to let them realize for themselves over time what the truth is. The emotion chip helped him interpret his emotions better by strengthening them, but he certainly didn’t need it to give him his emotions. He already had them, and I am convinced that he cared very deeply for you, just as you still do for him.”

Geordi sniffled, and he wiped his face on the back of his sleeves. “Deanna,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. That information makes me feel better in some ways, but it makes me feel so much worse in others.”

“In the long run, I think it will do more good than bad,” she said. “It will help you find peace, I think, knowing that.”

“I hope so,” he said. “But that still leaves the question: what do I do?”

“Are you determined not to stay on the _Enterprise_?” she asked.

“I’m pretty damn determined not to stay with Starfleet,” he said. “I think I’m done. This last mission was too much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” a voice said which was not Counselor Troi’s.

Geordi looked up and saw Commander Riker standing in the doorway to his left, his eyes swollen and red and tired, and his hair an awful mess. He was tying a robe around his waist over green and blue plaid pajamas.

“But I understand,” Riker went on. “I can’t imagine being in your place, Geordi.”

“Commander,” Geordi said, standing.

“Come here,” Riker said, and he came closer, and pulled Geordi into a tight hug. “Geordi, whatever you need to do, I support your decision. If you need to take some time off, that’s fine. If you need a transfer, I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign and write whatever references you need. If you want to retire, I’ll put in a good word so that you can do so honorably.”

“Thank you,” Geordi said, hugging him back.

Deanna stood and wrapped her arms around them both.

“Geordi, I’m here to offer guidance and counseling, but in the end, you’re the one who can decide what you think is best for you,” she said. “And I will support you, too.”

“Thank you,” he said again, unable to find any more words.

After a moment, they let go, but Riker kept his hand on Geordi’s shoulder. He looked at him thoughtfully.

“If it means anything coming from me,” he said, “since, you know, I’m not empathic or telepathic or anything like that.” He let out a small chuckle. “But even I could see how much Data adored you. He thought you were the best, and the nicest, and the coolest person around. He told me about how you were his first friend, and his best friend the whole time he knew you. You know, he spent something like _fifteen years_ on his last posting, and in that time, he never made a single friend. No one reached out to him, no one talked to him more than they had to. He barely had enough human social interaction to know how to have a normal conversation or to gain any important, usable social skills. But you reached out to him, and you were excited to talk to him and be his friend, and that meant so much to him. He learned a lot from you, not only about how to be human, but about how to be a friend. You meant so much to him.”

Geordi’s lips were pressed together in a tight line. He blinked a few times, trying to push back another round of tears. He nodded.

“Thank you, Commander,” he said. “And you, Counselor. I’ll see you two around, okay?”

“Of course,” Will said, rubbing Geordi’s arm comfortingly.

Geordi turned with a polite nod and headed back toward the door.

“Oh, Geordi, one more thing,” Deanna said.

He turned back. “Yes, Counselor?”

“I read something once that’s always stuck with me,” she said. “‘It’s better to feel pain than nothing at all.’”

“Is that like, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’?” Geordi asked.

“Perhaps,” she said with a small smile. “You take care of yourself. I’ll see you later.”

“See you.”

He had to admit, he felt a little better stepping out that door. It still hurt like hell to think about Data, and even worse to think about what Troi and Riker had told him, but not quite so bad as it had before. And he knew that eventually the pain would dull. It wouldn’t go away. That sort of pain never does. But that was okay. He would be okay.


End file.
